Silent World
by caffeineaddict13
Summary: “I’m sorry,” you say quietly. It is the truest thing you can think of. J/B, AU.


**A/N:** What if Bella lost her human memories? Very AU—in a world where Bella is changed but Edward is gone, and she doesn't remember what it's like to be in love.

**Disclaimer**: …um, yeah, nothing's different.

--

The bartender asks you what you want to drink and you ask him for the strongest thing they have; he shakes his head at this quiet, beautiful, mysterious girl and the fact that she could have something to _drink _for.

In the corner of your eye you see all the men in this small, dingy bar looking at you with _those_ eyes, and you roll your own golden ones in frustration as you cough and trickle scotch in your napkin.

You like to pretend that you can feel the drinks having an effect on you—that you're drowsy and dizzy and you slur your words and swallow thickly to make it seem more real.

"You're lovely," a voice says, and you turn to it. You see this tall man—no, his face is too _young_ for a man's, his smile too wide and the lines on his face aren't old, exactly, just wise. He has _lived_, this boy, and this thought surprises you almost as much as his presence does. He isn't afraid of you, you realize, like most people are once they get _past_ the perfect features.

_cold days in the garage, red motorcycles and hugs that crush your bones—_

He is dark and his hair is long and you almost chuckle because he is _so_ beautiful, and you have never found more fault at your taste in pale, red-headed men.

You feel yourself blushing (no, but you know you _would_ be if…) because you haven't answered him yet and he is looking at you with those dark, wide eyes and you notice how deep they are.

_cliff-diving, drowning, beautiful brown eyes and he is saving you—_

"Soareyou," the words come out quickly, too quickly for human ears and for once you are grateful for your stupid mistakes. He smirks, though, and you crease your brow, frustrated and confused but _loving it_.

"Um, thank you," you try. His lids droop at the sound of your voice and this time _you_ are the smug one—he's _dazzled_ and all it takes is your voice.

He stares at you for a moment longer and when your gaze meets his, there is this weird thumping where your heart should be, if it even still exists, and you audibly gasp at the feel of it, pressing your small palm on your chest, pushing hard against your cold skin, _praying_ that it will start up again.

"Bella," the boy says, and your vision wavers like you really _are_ drunk.

_Bells, honey, I love you and endearments that make your heart burn—_

"How do you know my name?" you manage. Your tongue feels heavy as you struggle to pronounce each syllable, but your mind is working overtime because something isn't _right_, something's _missing_, and you think you already know the answer to your question but it is just barely, _just barely_ out of reach.

You look into his eyes and they are _sad_, touched by something that you can never dream of feeling. They are more broken than your stopped heart and you want _so badly_ to fix him.

_warm hands and apologies, but you are not sorry and you love him—_

"You don't…" his voice is low and husky and he seems like he is almost _afraid_ of you, which isn't something new except that you don't _want_ him to be scared of you, you want him to _trust _you.

"I'm sorry," you say quietly. It is the truest thing you can think of.

He is still, and you can't even see him take a breath, and you wonder for a second whether he is like _you_ before pushing the thought out of your head—no, he is too _alive_ to be like _you_.

"It's me," he murmurs. "Bells, it's Jacob."

And the name sounds so familiar but you can't place it, like it is from another life, another _existence_, and all these memories that trickle in are coming faster now, and you can't stop the empty sobs as you fall into his arms, right there in the middle of this ugly bar and he is shivering.

_screaming and playing pretend and whispers; Jacob, my Jacob—_

"Oh, honey, don't you even remember me?"

But it is so far away, his voice. You realize that you love him, this strange and beautiful boy, and you don't know why because you are cold and dead and it is impossible to _love_, impossible to love when there is nothing for you to give. But you would give him the world, you know it, and you have only known him for a moment.

With a breath, ("Jacob") he holds you, says, "It's okay, I'll take care of you, it'll all be right soon."

And you believe him.

_love, love, endless and twisted but it screams his name and you are happy, finally_

--

**END**


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